Dead
by ScaryScarecrows
Summary: Jonathan Crane gets himself into a lot of trouble. One of these days, the results could be bad.
1. Chapter 1

There's a light behind his eyes. He feels very fuzzy. Perhaps that last blow broke something important, like his neck.

He is alone, he can tell that much. Perhaps he's dead. He feels as though he could be dead.

"Jonathan."

If he's dead, the angels are British.

He opens his eyes to see said angel bending over him. Is she going to kiss him? It figures his first kiss _would_ be in Heaven.

"Am I dead?"

His glasses perch themselves on his face. No, he's not dead. Or he and Kitty are both dead. Unlikely.

"Come on, get up."

He staggers to his feet and begins to pick up his books.

"Kitty?"

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"Oh, Jonathan." she says. "Death isn't the locker hall."

He must be in Hell. It's hot and his eyes and jaw ache. Funny, he thought dying would be more…memorable.

"Come on, love, just a sip."

Water forces itself down his throat and he chokes on it. Water? He didn't know they offered water in Hell.

Something much less pleasant than the water is now in his mouth and he grimaces.

"Please…"

"Shh. You've got a high fever, just try to go back to sleep."

Fever? Not Hell?

"B-but…"

"Shh." the voice says again. "Try to sleep."

Yes. Anything to make this stop.

God, how many times does he have to die?

He's lying on the floor of the old chapel, well aware that he's bleeding and has been in here for too long. His glasses are broken. Everything hurts. How long does it take to die of infection? Or exposure?

God help him.

He stays conscious for another hour or so before his eyes flutter shut for good.

Ohh, of all the things to be killed by, a hot dog has to be the most embarrassing. And he will be killed by it, he can just tell. No one can throw up this much without dying.

"Put me out of my misery." he groans. "Please, Kitty."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"How long does it take to die from food poisoning?"

"You're not going to die from food poisoning." She gives him a quick peck on the forehead and taps the water glass by the bed. "Go back to sleep, love."

Now he's tempted to die just to spite her.

His chest hurts. So does everything else, but his chest hurts the most.

How is he not dead? He should be-taking a bullet to the chest should be a death sentence. But he doesn't feel feverish, and he knows where he is, so he must be alive.

Kitty's fallen asleep next to the bed. She'll get a crick, but he can't bring himself to wake her up. He ends up resting a hand on her head instead.

He's nearly asleep again when she says his name.

"Jonathan?"

He swallows, feeling sandpaper.

"I'm not dead."

She gets up and leans over him. For a moment he can feel the locker hall floor under his back. She kisses him this time.

"No." she says softly. "You're not."

AN: This is a two-part piece. Expect the second one on Tuesday.


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan Crane doesn't think breathing should be this difficult. He can't be positive, of course, since he can't remember anything else.

He coughs, tasting blood, and forces himself to swallow it down. Funny, he never thought it would be like this. He always thought there would be a mishap with the Batman, or an overdose in Arkham, or _something_ more memorable than this.

He misses Kitty. These last two weeks-or is it only one?-have been the longest of his life.

He coughs again. This time he spits the blood out.

He's bored. Who would have thought that dying would be boring?

He should have gone to a doctor a long time ago, he knows that now. But they would have put him in Arkham and done nothing. At least he would have gotten painkillers in Arkham. He almost wishes he would have donated himself to science, but they would have been more interested in his brain than whatever this is. Idiots.

He blames the Batman for this. The man grabs so many people every day. It's entirely possible that he gave Jonathan something.

_Go to sleep, Jonathan._

He doesn't remember Kitty's voice replacing Scarecrow's, but he doesn't care. Feverish delusions are surprisingly nice. He'll enjoy it while it lasts.

_Jonathan…_

All right, all right! God, even the imaginary Kitty is bossy. He supposes that's a good thing.

He takes one last look at his surroundings, taking in the pile of notes in the corner. All that work that was never finished. What a waste.

_Forget it. Just go to sleep._

His eyes flutter shut. He can't open them again. For a second he _swears_ that cool lips brush against his own, and then there's nothing.

AN: Hey, if you ignored the 'tragedy' tag when you clicked on this, that's not my problem.


End file.
